


The Length and Breadth of Thedas

by Isis



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Background Cullen Rutherford, Background Hawke (Dragon Age), Background Leliana (Dragon Age), Background The Iron Bull (Dragon Age), Brief Varric Tethras, F/F, Flirting, Inquisition Scouts doing Scouty Things, Past Isabela/Leliana (Dragon Age), Pining, References to Dragon Age II quests, References to Inquisition quests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26168305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis/pseuds/Isis
Summary: Scout Harding recruits an agent for the Inquisition.  It would sure be nice if she could see her again sometime.
Relationships: Lace Harding/Isabela
Comments: 12
Kudos: 18
Collections: Black Emporium 2020





	The Length and Breadth of Thedas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mytha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mytha/gifts).



> Big thanks to Choco Chip for beta reading.

It was raining, of course, when Harding set out to see if she could find the bandits’ hideout. It wasn’t something she had been asked to do, but she was doing it anyway. They really couldn’t afford to be losing people here on the Storm Coast, not while Templars were transforming into weird monsters, and anyway, one of the soldiers who’d gone missing was a friend of hers. If she could point the Inquisitor in the right direction, maybe Her Worship and her companions could get the drop on the bandits, maybe even get their people back alive.

Cautiously she stepped through the tangle of trees and shrubs, staying away from the main paths, heading down the coast in the direction taken by the lost patrol. There was a lot of elfroot growing around the bases of the trees, she noted as she worked her way uphill to the west. She’d have to tell the requisitions officer about it; they could always use more herbs. The Waking Sea lapped against the shore, making a soft rumbling noise, like that of a waterfall. Between that and the patter of raindrops, the faint voices that wafted toward her on the wind were barely audible. Good thing her ears were sensitive, and that humans were loud.

She slipped behind a large rock as the voices got closer. At least two of them, maybe more, she thought. The clank and creak of mail and leather: warriors. _Ours_ _? Or bandits?_

A bush grew next to the rock, providing perfect cover for her to peek through toward the path slanting down the hillside. She was pretty sure they’d be sticking to the path, anyway, since they were a group of humans. Hard enough for one small dwarf to slip through the underbrush. The rain dripped through the leaves and branches, wetting her face and running down her neck into her collar. It wasn’t very comfortable, but she was used to it by now. _Anyway, I should enjoy it while I’ve got it; the Inquisition’s probably sending me to the desert next, and I’ll be wishing for rain on my face!_

The noises got closer. Two men and a woman, at least, grumbling about the rain, and about the terrible quality of their rations – nothing that Inquisition soldiers wouldn’t be talking about. But then one of them mentioned reporting back to Commander Cherran, and that name wasn’t familiar. Not that she knew everyone in the Inquisition, of course, but she knew the forces on the Storm Coast, and Cherran was not among them.

“Ivor’s going to be disappointed if we don’t bring back some serpentstone,” said the woman’s voice. 

“Then let him come out here in the weather to find it,” said one of the men. As he spoke, he emerged into her vision; yep, they were on the path, just as she’d thought. “At least those Inquisition soldiers haven’t come around in a while, praise Andraste.”

“Guess they’re smarter than us,” said the woman. She was right behind the man, both in armor and carrying swords and shields.

“Don’t take much,” said the other man, behind her. He wore leathers, and had a bow. Instinctively, Harding unslung her own bow from her shoulder, and pulled an arrow from her quiver, just in case. Abruptly the bandit archer came to a halt and swiveled his head in her direction. “Did you hear something?”

Harding tensed. She didn’t think her movements had been _that_ loud. But then she heard a sort of shuffling noise, coming from somewhere behind her. _M_ _ust have been concentrating so much on the bandits that_ _I_ _tuned out everything else._

Carefully, she turned, squinting into the underbrush. An inquisitive nug poked its nose out from some bushes, then snorted quietly and started shuffling in her direction. _Oh, no! Go the other way,_ _go_ _on!_ She tried to shoo it away, flapping her hand with very small motions near her waist, but the stupid thing just kept coming. 

An arrow whizzed over her head and hit the nug squarely between its shoulders. “Hah!” Panicked, Harding looked over her shoulder to see the archer, heading right for her. Her hiding place was not going to hide her for much longer!

 _B_ _etter run_. She sidled away from the bush and then broke fast along the side of the rock, headed for a thick grove of trees. She heard them cursing and yelling, no doubt in pursuit. At least she had a small head start, and leathers on rather than heavy plate. Another arrow sailed by, uncomfortably close, and it thunked into a tree just as Harding dove behind it.

“Did’ya see that dwarf?” said the woman. 

“Inquisition,” said the male warrior, and Harding could hear the disgust in his voice. 

She nocked her arrow and ducked behind some shrubs on the other side of the tree. With one quick motion she slid up to a gap between branches, sighting through them – yes, she had a clear shot at the archer, so she took it, not even waiting to hear his cry before she crouched down again. 

Unfortunately, the warrior had seen her, and he crashed through the underbrush toward her. She managed to get a shot off at him; her arrow hit his neck, right where she was aiming, but his gorget blunted the blow enough that he only paused for a moment. Then he was upon her, knocking her back with his shield, stunning her. Her bow dropped from her nerveless hands. She watched him raise his sword as though she were outside her own body, helpless to prevent the blow from landing.

But the sword never descended. Instead a blur of movement crossed Harding’s vision and the man stumbled to his knees, dropping his shield and clutching his bleeding side. The blur resolved itself into a pretty dark-skinned woman wearing a kerchief on her head and holding two daggers, one of which dripped bandit blood. 

“Finish him off, I’ll get the others,” said the woman, grinning at her, and then she was gone. Finding that she could move again, Harding pulled out her own dagger and plunged it into the man’s throat. He swiped at her weakly with his sword, but his eyes were already looking glazed, and he fell back into the sodden leaf litter and stopped moving.

She picked up her bow again and peered through the trees. Her mysterious rescuer was battling the woman bandit, circling around her, taking swipes at her with her daggers and then dancing out of reach when her opponent swung her sword. Harding looked farther up the hill, where the archer was just fitting an arrow to his bowstring. With satisfaction, she saw that his arm was bleeding. _I guess I slowed him down! But I’d better slow him down some more._

Harding didn’t have time to aim, not if she wanted to get him before he got his own shot off, so she just loosed an arrow in his general direction. It landed somewhere in the trees near him, but that was enough to startle him so that his shot went wide and crashed harmlessly into the bushes at the side of the path. She was already nocking a second arrow; this one flew straight and true, right into his eye, and he fell backward, screaming.

She turned to sight on the remaining warrior, but there was no need. The dark woman was bent over the warrior’s body, rifling it for valuables. Harding took a moment to appreciate her trim figure, then went back to the male warrior to do the same and was rewarded with a small pouch of coins. She considered it for a moment, then stepped out on the path, where the woman was just coming back from the bushes where the bandit archer had fallen.

“Thanks for saving my bacon,” Harding said. She held out the pouch. “Take this one, too. The Inquisition pays me pretty well, and I wouldn’t be alive if you hadn’t shown up.”

The woman smiled at her and took the bag of coins and tucked it between her breasts. “I won’t say no! But speaking of bacon, the best reward would be if you’d shoot me a hare or a ram. I was actually hunting for my dinner when I saw you. I’d suggest you take me out for a meal, but I suspect the nearest tavern’s a long way off.”

“Our camp’s not far. Our food’s not fancy, but it’s filling. If you want to come with me, I mean.”

“I don’t suppose you have wine?”

“Ale,” said Harding. “Like I said, not fancy.”

“Then I accept. Saves me the trouble of hunting, and spares my dwindling wine supply. Might even last all the way to Val Royeaux, now!” She held out her hand. “Isabela.”

“Scout Harding.” She shook Isabela’s hand. “If you’re going to Val Royeaux, you’re on the wrong side of the water.”

Isabela gestured vaguely toward the shore. “My boat’s tucked away in a cove.” Harding looked toward the shoreline, but it was impossible to see anything, really, with the trees and the rain, especially since what little sun there was had begun to set. 

“What’s your business in Val Royeaux?” asked Harding as they walked back toward the Inquisition camp.

Isabela shrugged. “Things to deliver. Maybe things to acquire.”

Not very forthcoming, thought Harding. _Probably_ _she’s a smuggler._ It was an exciting thought, if she were to be honest with herself. She’d never met a smuggler before – that she knew of, anyway. She supposed that was a strike against her, since smugglers were technically bad guys, like bandits. But on the other hand, Isabela had saved her life, so that canceled it out. And she was so strikingly good-looking in a sort of extravagant way that Harding was unused to seeing in the field. Inquisition armor was protective, but it didn’t do much for the figure. Isabela’s leathers clung to her skin, accentuating her curves, and her gold jewelry looked so pretty, shining against her skin. Not to mention that she was _really_ talented with those daggers. As a scout, Harding usually ventured out alone – but she wouldn’t mind having a partner, if that partner was like Isabela.

“Whoa, wait a minute, this looks official.” Isabela stopped just short of the camp, eyeing the Inquisition banners uneasily. “Are you with an army?”

“I told you I was a scout.”

“I thought that was your name!”

“Might as well be.” It was true – that’s all anyone ever called her, Scout Harding, like it was her full name. It was a little weird, but she didn’t mind. It wasn’t as though she particularly liked her real first name, anyway. “We’re just soldiers of the Inquisition. Wait, that sounds sort of scary, doesn’t it. We’re supporting the Inquisitor, the Hand of Andraste. You’ve heard about her?”

Isabela shook her head. “I’ve been out of touch. In Kirkwall for a while, and then...” She waved her hand. “Around.”

 _Not too keen on specifics, is she._ “Have you seen the rifts?” At Isabela’s frown, she added, “Big green shimmery things. Demons pop out of them when you get too close.”

“Oh,” said Isabela. “ _Those_ rifts.” She shuddered. “That’s why I ran into you. I started out heading east, but I saw one of those things and decided I’d better go the other way.”

“Lucky for me that you did. Anyway, they’re all over Ferelden and Orlais. The Inquisitor travels around and closes them, but she depends on us to check things out ahead of time, you know, give her reports so she knows what’s going on.”

“So you’re not official Fereldan authorities or anything like that.”

“Nobody’s going to ask you anything, and if they do, you don’t have to answer,” Harding said firmly. “Nobody cares if you’re a smuggler – no, I’m not saying you are, just that if you are, nobody cares. I’ll just tell them you saved my life. That’s all they need to know. Now, come on, I’m hungry.” 

She strode into the camp, not looking back, but she heard Isabela’s footsteps behind her. _Good._ Before the requisition officer could say anything, she said, “Ser Mara, do we have enough provisions for an extra mouth tonight?” 

“It’s just you and me and Herrick,” she said, looking past Harding toward Isabela and raising an eyebrow. Clearly she was curious, but she was too much of a soldier to ask. “We’ve got plenty of stew and bread.”

“It’s always stew and bread,” Harding informed Isabela. “But it goes good with the ale.”

“I take it you didn’t find our men.”

“No. Got into a little bandit trouble, but Isabela here helped me out. That’s three fewer of them, anyway.”

The requisition officer nodded. “Good. And thank you, Ser Isabela.”

Isabela laughed. “That’s got to be the first time anyone’s called me Ser. Just Isabela, thanks.”

They sat together near the fire as they ate. Herrick had eaten quickly and then headed out to patrol the perimeter, and Mara had taken her own food into her tent, so it was just the two of them. Which is what Harding had hoped for, really. As a scout, she spent a lot of time at the various Inquisition camps, and while she sort of knew everyone, she wasn’t really part of any unit, so whenever she was posted to a new camp, she always felt like a bit of an outsider. Sometimes she made friends in the unit, like she had here, which had been great – until they got taken by bandits. 

So it was nice to have someone new around, someone she had all to herself. It didn’t hurt that Isabela was good-looking, and told a lot of funny stories, though some of them seemed a little far-fetched to be strictly true. She was indeed a smuggler, or had been – she didn’t give any specifics, but Harding could read between the lines. She talked about her time as a ship captain, which seemed to have been a while ago. When Harding asked, she just shrugged and said that her ship had sunk a while back, and she was sure she’d find another one somewhere, and for now her little boat suited her just fine. She was from Rivain, though she didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t seem to want to talk about Kirkwall, either. 

She did ask Harding about how she’d ended up with the Inquisition, and about what the Inquisition did. Which led Harding to say, “You know, _you’d_ be a great asset for the Inquisition. It sounds like you know a lot of people, and a lot of ways to get things done outside normal channels.”

Isabela shook her head. “Doesn’t really sound like my thing.”

“But it’s the same thing you’re doing now, probably. Just keeping your eyes open and reporting in on what’s going on along the Waking Sea. Maybe doing a mission, if you’re in the right place.”

“Do they pay well? I don’t work for free.”

“I guess. They pay me well, anyway, but I’m a regular. I don’t know what agents get.”

“Hmm. Would I get to see you? That would be a nice bonus.” Isabela reached out to stroke Harding’s arm. It was a light touch, not demanding anything, just – offering.

Harding felt her cheeks go red. She turned her hand over to capture Isabela’s, gave it a little squeeze before dropping it. “Maybe? Though honestly, I don’t know how long I’ll be here. I’ll probably be shipped out to some other place as soon as the Inquisitor gets here. I mean, I’m a scout. That’s my job, to travel the length and breadth of Thedas. But I might see you if you come to our base up at Skyhold.”

“In that case, I’d better move fast.” She picked up Harding’s hand and kissed it, adding, “Don’t want your Inquisitor interrupting anything.”

“She’s not likely to come without sending word first! But really, you should consider it. The Inquisitor’s a good woman. She’s just trying to close the rifts and get these demons out of Thedas.”

“I’ve put in my time working for idealists,” Isabela scoffed. “Didn’t work out. I look out for myself.”

“I’m glad you weren’t only looking out for yourself an hour ago.” 

She winked. “I had ulterior motives. And it worked – I got some coin, and a meal with a pretty girl. And something to drink,” she added, lifting her mug and taking a sip. “It’s not Ostwick Lager, but it’s not bad.”

“Still, it was a risk. They could have killed both of us.”

“A calculated risk. I saw you fight. You’re good with that bow. I know people talk about elven archers, but I’ve got to say, the best archer I know – other than you, I mean – is a dwarf.”

“Really? You know other dwarven archers?”

Isabela shrugged, took another drink of her ale. “Used to spend time with this dwarf in Kirkwall. He had this crossbow he’d named for an old lover, or so we all figured, since he never would give the same story twice, and boy, did he ever love stories.” She leaned closer to Harding and lowered her voice. “I think he slept with it, to be honest. But he was a dead shot. Saved my life a few times, and saved Hawke a dozen times, probably.”

Harding sipped from her own mug and thought for a moment. There really weren’t a lot of dwarven archers, at least, not surfacers – she’d never been to Orzammar, of course. She’d had a few run-ins with the Carta, and mostly they used axes or daggers. And she thought she’d heard him mention the name Hawke, and she was pretty sure he’d been in Kirkwall, and everybody knew about his stories…. It would probably be too much of a coincidence – but she had to ask.

“Okay, this is a long shot,” she started, and then she snorted. “Which I guess is appropriate, talking about archery! But your friend wouldn’t happen to be named Varric, would he?”

“He would indeed,” said Isabela, a grin stealing across her face. “I may have to reconsider this Inquisition.” She leaned forward. “So, this Skyhold place – does it have a tavern?”

* * *

The Inquisitor and her companions showed up five days after Isabela left. After Harding delivered her report, she went over to Varric. “I met a friend of yours.”

“Yeah?”

“Isabela. She said she knew you in Kirkwall.” 

“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Varric. “How is the Rivaini?” Harding blushed, and he laughed. “Still up to her old tricks! Well, I hope she didn’t promise you anything. Or if she did, that you didn’t believe her.”

“She was looking for work.” _Well, that wasn’t a lie, exactly._ “I thought she’d be a good agent for the Inquisition. She was headed for Val Royeaux, but when she finishes her business there, I’m hoping she’ll show up at Skyhold.”

He shook his head. “If you get back there before me, tell Ruffles to hide the good silver.”

“We’re heading out, Varric,” called the Inquisitor, saving Harding from having to respond as Varric, still grinning, nodded a farewell to her and followed the Inquisitor out of camp. 

When they were out of sight, Harding sighed. Everyone at Skyhold knew about Varric’s stories; hopefully he wasn’t going to write anything salacious about her. Especially since it wouldn’t be true. _Mostly not true, anyway._ Isabela _had_ spent the night in her tent, and she’d made it clear that she was interested in more than just sleeping. Harding had been tempted, sure, but – that wasn’t something she was comfortable with, not after having only known her for not even a full day. There were maybe four people outside her family who even knew her first name. It just didn’t seem right.

So they’d snuggled a bit, exchanged a few kisses, nothing more. Mostly they just talked. It was surprisingly easy to tell Isabela about growing up in the Hinterlands, about how much she loved exploring, how she was recruited for the Inquisition in Redcliffe. She’d always thought her life had been boring before Charter recruited her, that nobody would care about a farmer’s daughter’s life, but Isabela really listened – she laughed at Harding’s silly stories, and she asked questions about her travels, and she genuinely seemed to want to know what scouting was like, and why Harding enjoyed working for the Inquisition.

Isabela opened up, too, at least a little. Her stories became less glib and more honest as the night wore on, and Harding found them even more fascinating than the ones she’d told over dinner. Her childhood had not been as happy as Harding’s, and her marriage had been a disaster. She’d had some grand adventures since, to be sure, but it sounded to Harding as though Isabela was still searching for a place to call her home. _Maybe the Inquisition could be that place_ , she thought. _After all, it is for me_.

Harding had almost expected her to be gone in the morning, but to her surprise she woke to find Isabela half-curled around her with her arm flung across Harding’s hips. She tried to extract herself gently, but Isabela opened her eyes and yawned.

“Mmph. You get up too early.”

“That’s life in the army. You can sleep in if you like. I’ll tell Ser Mara to feed you before you go.”

“No, no, I’ll get up, too.” Isabela uncoiled herself and stretched like a cat. “I’m not sure I want to work for the Inquisition if they don’t let you sleep to a decent hour, though.”

Harding couldn’t keep from smiling as she pulled her boots on. “You mean, you’re considering it?”

“I could use the money. And it would be nice to catch up with Varric again.”

“And to see me again,” Harding reminded her.

“Of course to see you again!” Isabela pulled her back down to the bed for a quick kiss. “Say, does the Inquisition have decent coffee?”

The Inquisition had adequate coffee, anyway; Ambassador Montilyet traded to Antiva for it, and although the best of it went to the Skyhold kitchens, the ordinary quality was distributed to the camps. After a quick breakfast under the eyes of Mara and Herrick, who looked on in disapproval and amusement, respectively, Isabela took her leave. 

_I hope I see her again._

She was thinking about Isabela as she and Herrick rode back toward Skyhold. Now that the Inquisitor had come to the Storm Coast, it was time for her to report back and get her next assignment. Maybe Isabela would already be there – no, that would be unlikely, considering the distance to Val Royeaux. Assuming it was really Val Royeaux she was going to. She had the feeling that Isabela tended to be a little less than strictly truthful, which was probably a survival mechanism when you were a smuggler. 

She told herself that it didn’t matter, really. If she saw Isabela again, they could get to know each other better. _And if I don’t, well – it was a nice evening._

At Skyhold she reported to Commander Rutherford, filling in the details she hadn’t known when she’d sent her initial reconnaissance report to Leliana’s agent. When she got to the part about the missing soldiers, he grimaced. “Hate to lose good men.”

“Hopefully they’ve just been captured, and Her Worship will get them back,” she said. “I didn’t see bodies, ser. Oh, their commander’s name is Cherran, if that helps.”

“Not a name I know,” he said, but he noted it down. “How’d you get that bit of information?”

She explained her aborted mission to try to find the bandits’ hideout. “Oh, and the woman who helped me when I ran into those bandits – I told her where to find us. I think she might be a useful asset in the area around the Waking Sea. Her name’s Isabela.”

A strange expression crossed the commander’s face. “Isabela the Rivaini? Who used to live in Kirkwall?”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you know her,” said Harding ruefully. “It sounds like she’s been all over Thedas.”

“I was Knight-Commander of Kirkwall before I joined the Inquisition.” He shook his head. “Well, maybe she’s changed.” 

“Changed, ser?”

“She was, er, rather wild. Had quite a reputation at the Hanged Man – that was a Lowtown tavern that had a bit of a reputation itself. Always had a drink in her hand and someone in her lap.” He sighed. “But Hawke trusted her, at least for a time. Maker knows why. And as you’ve seen, she’s good to have at your back in a fight. I’ll let you know if she shows up.”

“Thank you, ser. And where will I be?”

“Ah, yes, your next assignment.” He took a scroll from his desk and handed it to Harding. “Knight-Captain Rylen has noticed more travelers than usual in the Western Approach in southwestern Orlais. He’s asked for scouts to investigate. I’m sending you with two other scouts, who will be under your command, as well as a detachment of soldiers in case you run into trouble.”

She took the scroll and looked over her orders. _Yep, going to the desert. I_ knew _it._

They left three days later. It was a long slog through the Frostbacks and the Dales, and there were plenty of wolves and bandits to keep them on their toes along the way – and when they got there, Harding almost wanted to return to the wolves and bandits. The loose sand shifted under her feet, and when it wasn’t trying to suck her boots off her feet, it was filtering into her clothes, and her hair, and – well, _everywhere_. When she took her boots off in the evening, she’d turn them upside down, and at least a cup of sand would pour out of each one. Hyena, varghest, and quillbacks roamed the desert, and if Harding and the other scouts managed to dodge them on a mission, they’d still have to watch for the sandstorms and the weird stinky poisonous springs that could knock a Qunari off his feet, let alone a dwarf. It was so hot during the day that she wished she could throw off her suffocating armor, and so cold at night that she wished Isabela was there to snuggle up with – well, she wished Isabela was there for other reasons, but it would definitely have been warmer. And she’d been right: she _did_ miss the rain on her face. Still, they were able to establish a camp, and when they’d done so, Harding sent word to the commander that everything was in place.

A few weeks later, the Inquisitor came out for herself, and Harding gave her the run-down, cautioning Her Worship of all the terrible things they’d found. Of course they’d be all right – everyone knew the Inquisitor had Andraste on her side, and her companions were powerful warriors and mages, and dedicated to her cause – but she couldn’t keep herself from adding, at the end, “Be careful out there.” 

It was nice to get out of there, and she was relieved to be going back to Skyhold. Maybe, she thought as she rode back across the Dales with the other scouts, Isabela would have shown up while she was gone.

Commander Rutherford didn’t say anything one way or the other after she gave him her report, but when she’d finished and was on her way toward Herald’s Rest, a runner came to her. “Leliana wants to see you.”

 _Probably in order to kill me. And I don’t even get a drink first._ “Thanks,” she said, and went in to the main keep instead. She climbed the spiral stairs slowly, trying to put it off, trying to remember if she’d done anything the last time she was in Skyhold that might have angered their spymaster, since it couldn’t be something recent – she’d just got there! Step by step, higher and higher, and it almost felt to her at one point as though there was no door at the bottom or at the top, just an endless spiral – but eventually she came to the rookery, took a deep breath, and steeled herself to meet her doom.

“So,” said Leliana. She sat on her desk and looked down at Harding, which was even more disconcerting than usual. “Isabela said you told her we’d pay her.”

Despite Leliana’s acerbic tone, Harding couldn’t help the little bubble of joy that rose in her body at those words. “She came here?” 

“She came here. And the first thing she did was ask for money!” Leliana’s face was hidden by her hood, but Harding could hear the outrage in her voice.

“I’m sorry! It’s just – I told her that she’d be a good agent for the Inquisition. And that the Inquisition pays their agents.”

“Did she sleep with you before or after you made the offer?”

“What? We didn’t – I mean, we did, but we didn’t –”

Leliana laughed, her sudden mirth ringing out in bell-like tones through the tower. “Oh, Scout Harding, you should see your face!” She collapsed in giggles, which was extremely disconcerting. “And I don’t believe you. Isabela sleeps with everyone.”

“What?” said Harding again, weakly.

“Not that I can blame you. She’s very good, isn’t she?”

A million things fought for attention in her head. She tried to focus. Finally what came out was, “You? And Isabela?”

Leliana laughed again. “It was a long time ago, in Denerim – most enjoyable! I have to thank you for sending her here – I hadn’t seen her in years.”

The effervescence she’d felt upon hearing that Isabela had come to Skyhold vanished. Dully she said, “I’m happy to have brought you back together.”

“Oh, no,” said Leliana. “You misunderstand. It was only that one time, a sweet memory to look back on. I have other things on my mind these days. As I suppose we all do.” She sighed. “But I’m sure she’ll be delighted to see you when she returns to Skyhold.”

“Returns?”

Leliana nodded. “I hired her, of course. You were right, I can make use of her skills. I sent her to Tantervale to bring back someone we’ve located there, an arcanist who needs an escort to Skyhold. It’s only been a week, so I don’t expect her back for some time.”

Harding stopped herself from asking yet another question – it seemed like that was all she ever did when she was around Leliana – and just nodded. Tantervale was somewhere in the Free Marches; she could look at a map. “Thank you,” she said. “If there’s nothing else?”

* * *

There was nothing else, so she went to the Herald’s Rest to get a drink – she felt she deserved it, after the misery of the Western Approach. _Not to mention that conversation with Leliana, ugh. It will take more than one drink to get_ that _out of my brain!_ Cabot poured her a mug of ale, which she was taking toward one of the tables along the wall when the Iron Bull waved her over.

“Glad to see you made it here,” she said, sitting on a bench near him. They’d met on one of her recons on the Storm Coast; he had said he’d already sent a man to speak with the Inquisition about hiring his mercenary companies, and so she’d only briefly mentioned him in the report she’d sent back. 

He nodded. “Looking forward to doing some work.”

“ _I’m_ looking forward to a break,” she said, and took a long drink of her ale. It definitely tasted better here in the tavern than it did in the camps, cold and frothy instead of flat and tepid. “I’ll be lucky to get to spend one night here before they send me off to some exciting swamp or fascinating ruins.”

“Lucky you. Better than staying here and getting cleaned out by your girlfriend.”

“What?” Her head snapped up so quickly she almost spilled her drink.

“She cheats at Wicked Grace,” the Bull informed her. “Good thing I noticed before she made off with all my money.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” said Harding, but she couldn’t keep a smile from crossing her lips. _So that’s what she told them?_

“Whatever.” The Bull drained his glass. “When she gets back from her mission, you’d better have some words with her, or I’ll have to do it.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” said Harding, and finished her own drink.

As it turned out she had three glorious days of liberty before Leliana asked her to go to the Dales of Orlais and find a refugee named Fairbanks. Isabela hadn’t made it back by the time she had to leave, so she left a note with Cabot ( _Glad you made it here, see you soon_ ) and headed out with the other scouts. 

After they located Fairbanks in a cavern tucked in a lush forest – and survived a battle with the rebel Freemen of the Dales – she got a letter from Cullen ordering her to another part of the Dales to establish an outpost. That was much less green and much less pleasant, a wasteland of dead trees and elven ruins, and it seemed that every stone wall hid a phalanx of Freemen, ready to rain arrows on Harding and the other scouts as soon as they drew near enough. The Inquisition set up a camp near a river, and the noise of the water rushing across the rocks reminded Harding of the seas lapping against the Storm Coast, and of Isabela. Where was Isabela now, she wondered? When would she see her again?

All told, it was nearly a month before she made it back to Skyhold, and when she did, she was told Isabela had been back and left again. Cabot handed her a piece of paper; it was the note she’d left, with _Can’t wait – I._ scribbled on the bottom.

“Missed each other again, darn.” _Maybe one day we’ll actually meet again. Sometime this year, if we’re lucky._

“I like her,” said Cabot. “She buys a lot of drinks.”

“Sounds good,” said Harding. “I’ll buy one, too.”

He shook his head. “The spymaster told me to send you over as soon as you arrived.”

Harding climbed the stairs to the rookery with somewhat less trepidation than before. It was probably another scouting job, rather than Leliana wanting to kill her. _I hope._

“You wanted to see me?”

“There’s a Grey Warden in Crestwood that has important information for the Inquisitor,” Leliana said. “You are to find him. But take care – no one has heard from anyone in Crestwood since the Breach, and I fear a trap.”

 _So much for that drink._ “I’ve just got in. Do you want me to leave right away?”

“Not quite, but soon. Go speak with Hawke, first.”

“Hawke? _The_ Hawke? She’s in Skyhold?” 

“She should still be on the battlements. But go quickly, you must catch her before she leaves.”

Hawke was indeed on the battlements, pacing back and forth with long, confident strides. She looked every inch the Champion of Kirkwall, from the top of her short dark hair to the toes of her boots. Harding could see why everybody spoke of her with awe.

Nervously, she approached. “Uh, hi? I’m Scout Harding, with the Inquisition, and I’m supposed to go to Crestwood to look for the Grey Warden.”

“Excellent,” said Hawke. She smiled warmly, shook Harding’s hand, and then gave her some quick background on the Wardens and some information about her Warden friend, Stroud. “He’s probably holed up in an abandoned cottage, or a cave somewhere. Might be tricky to find him. But I’m sure you’ll have no trouble, no matter the situation. Isabela said you’re a quick thinker and a talented archer.”

 _Isabela?_ Harding gulped. “Did she – was she –”

“I have to thank you for bringing her here,” Hawke went on. “I hadn’t seen her in nearly two years. We didn’t part on the best of terms, but that’s all water under the bridge, now. It was good to catch up.”

“That’s...nice?”

“I’d always hoped she’d find someone. You seem solid and dependable – not very much like her, I suppose, but I think that’s exactly what she needs.”

“Thank you, ser,” said Harding. “It was an honor meeting you, but I need to get started on this mission.” _Or I might throw myself off the battlements out of sheer embarrassment_. Hawke nodded, and she fled.

It was a good thing they didn’t run into anything dangerous on the first few days of the journey out to Crestwood, because Harding was, uncharacteristically, barely paying any attention to their surroundings. All she could think about was Isabela. Had she really been telling people they were…together? The Iron Bull, Harding could understand; that was how you made friends, sometimes, by making a connection, saying you knew someone they knew. But _Hawke_? The famous Champion of Kirkwall? Why would Isabela even mention a lowly Inquisition scout to someone like _her_?

And if she _was_ telling people they were together, did it even mean anything? From what the commander had said, and Varric, too, Isabela had been ‘together’ with an awful lot of people. Leliana, even! Harding still had trouble wrapping her mind around that. 

Hopefully, this mission would be a nice, short, easy one. They’d get to Crestwood, find Hawke’s friend, send a message back to the Inquisition, and Her Worship would come and take care of things from there. _Maybe I’ll be able to spend more than a couple of hours back in Skyhold. Maybe I’ll_ really _luck out, and Isabela will be here at the same time._

She should have known that nothing ever went the way she hoped. As soon as they got close to Crestwood, they were attacked by undead. At first it was just a corpse or two on the road, nothing she, Grandin, and Calla couldn’t handle with bow, staff, and sword, respectively. But there was definitely something off about the place, all of them could tell. It was too quiet, for one thing; normally the forest chattered with the sounds of birds and bugs, but their own footsteps were the only thing they heard – that, and the distant baying of wolves. They took turns standing watches when they camped that night, and sure enough, Grandin had to rouse them to fight off more corpses in the early hours. 

It was only one day’s ride from that camp to the north edge of town, where they planned to set up their more permanent foothold. None of them had been able to sleep after the attack on the camp, so they started early despite their fatigue, heading out into a steady rain that pattered on their helmets and turned the road to mud. They hadn’t been on the road long when a pack of wolves bounded out of the forest, mouths open and slavering, showing white, sharp teeth. Fortunately the scouts were wary, and therefore ready, and it was a short battle.

“Is it going to be like this all day?” asked Calla as she re-sheathed her sword.

“Probably,” said Harding. “It’s weird and wrong around here. Things are likely to just get worse.”

It _was_ like that all day, and it _did_ get worse. 

If it wasn’t wolves it was corpses, and once it was a rage demon that took all three of them to defeat and left Calla with a nasty burn on her sword arm that still pained her after she finished the last of the healing potions they’d brought. “I’ll still smash them with my shield,” she vowed, but privately Harding worried. Leliana had chosen speed over strength, a small, swift expedition instead of a larger detachment, but with only three scouts and a hazardous route, any injury was a concern. 

They were almost to Crestwood when disaster struck. A large group of undead came at them from out of the trees, and though Harding fitted arrows to her bow as fast as she could, and Grandin sent bolts from his staff, Calla was overpowered and knocked to the ground. Without a warrior to swat them down at close range, the corpses kept coming. At this rate, thought Harding grimly, they’d get too close for her bow. Or maybe she’d run out of arrows. Grandin was starting to look panicked. 

Then a noise came from off to their left, something or someone crashing through the bushes. Harding glanced quickly in that direction to assess the new threat – and her breath caught in her throat.

It was Isabela.

Her hair was wild and her grin was manic, and she jumped into the fray in front of Harding and Grandin, slashing her daggers at the undead attackers and reducing them to little corpsy bits. The scouts fell back and resumed picking off as many corpses as they could from a distance, letting Isabela deal with any that got through their barrage.

It was over quickly, after that. Grandin went to help Calla as she stumbled to her feet, and Harding turned to Isabela. 

“You’re making a habit of saving my bacon.”

“Of course,” said Isabela. “It wouldn’t do for you to get killed before I got into your pants.”

Harding stared. Isabela laughed, and after a moment, Harding joined in. “So you’re still interested?”

“I joined the Inquisition for you. If that doesn’t say ‘interested,’ I don’t know what does.”

“I thought you joined so you could catch up with your old friends.”

“Old friends, new friends.” She reached out and touched Harding’s arm; she left a bit of gore on Harding’s sleeve, but it was a sweet gesture, anyway. “Friends I’m interested in as more than friends.”

“Let’s get moving,” Calla called back to them, her voice hoarse with pain. “I see a good place to set up camp just ahead, and I’m hurting bad. I need a safe place to sit and recover.”

They unpacked the horses and set up the tents. Grandin brewed another healing potion for Calla, and Harding cooked dinner. As they ate, Isabela told her how she’d come to meet them on the road. “I’d just finished my mission and was on the way back to Skyhold when I got a message from Leliana telling me to meet you here. Turns out I’ve met the Warden we’re looking for, back in Kirkwall – he took Hawke’s sister under his wing when she became a Grey Warden. Leliana thought he might be less wary of speaking with someone he knows.”

“Makes sense,” said Harding.

“Also, I think she took pity on me. I told her that since I joined up so I could get to know you better, the least she could do was let us be in the same place at the same time!”

“Oh, this is the girlfriend we’ve heard about?” said Grandin.

Harding’s mouth was full – she was sure he wouldn’t have said that if it wasn’t – so she just shot him a glare. Isabela just said, airily, “Not yet, but I’m working on it.”

“Well, you two can have that tent, then,” he said, pointing to the one that was farthest from the rest. “Don’t make too many embarrassing noises, please. You want to take the first two watches?”

* * *

Harding took the first watch. When she woke Isabela for her turn she didn’t think she’d be able to sleep, but it had been a long day; she closed her eyes and woke up to Isabela sliding into the bedroll beside her.

“Go back to sleep,” Isabela whispered in her ear. 

“But I’ve traveled the length and breadth of Thedas, and I haven’t seen you in forever.” She snuggled closer to Isabela – and yawned.

“You need to sleep. We’ll be here for weeks. Plenty of time, Harding.”

“Lace,” murmured Harding, and yawned again. “M’name is Lace.”

Isabela kissed her. “Good night, Lace. See you in the morning.”


End file.
